My Life as A Dog
by notesofwimsey
Summary: Danny wakes up after a rough night and doesn't feel quite like himself.  Rated for language.


_Disclaimer: No infringement of copyright is intended. All characters originated with CSI:NY. _

_A/N: This odd little story was inspired by Anki. Without her, this story would not have been written. She's agreed to take the blame. _

_I also owe a debt of gratitude to mabelreid and her story, "A dog and his boy" for the concept of sentient dogs, but I'm not sure you can blame her for this story. (Hers is much more sensible.) _

_Spoiler Alert: Spoilers for Seasons 2 & 3, up to and including "Snow Day."_

* * *

My Life as a Dog

Danny woke up, stretching first one leg, then the other. A yawn split his face, so big his tongue curled as he rolled over. A beam of sunlight struck his face, and he yelped as he hit the floor, his feet scrabbling on the linoleum.

"_Shit, shit, shit,"_ he growled under his breath as he trotted to the bathroom. He was on the early shift this morning, and he should have known better than to go out with Flack the night before. "Sink a few balls and drink a beer," Flack had said, "Just one, and we'll go."

If the trouble he was having focusing and the fur on his tongue was any indication, they had sunk more than a few balls and many more than one drink. Danny blinked rapidly several times as he made his way across the floor, to be stymied by the door in front of him. He stared for a moment, then nudged the door open with his shoulder.

"_Shit, shit, shit!"_ This at the top of his lungs as he leapt back from the assault on his senses – every scent, bottled or bodily, that could possibly be trapped in a small room and steamed into a sensory stew rushed out and struck him in glorious technicolour and stereophonic sound.

He swore he could see smell – his cologne wrapped around his head in deep purple; the running clothes he had dropped on the floor before showering and meeting Flack lassoed his feet in a putrid baby-puke green; and the bleach floating in the toilet rammed down his throat in burning yellow.

He stumbled back from the room, panting heavily. _"What the hell?"_ He wondered as he sat on the floor and scratched behind his ear with one front…leg…

"_What the FUCK?"_

He leapt to his feet. All four of them. He looked behind him, and saw … a tail? He turned to see it better, turned again a little faster, and in less time than it takes to say, "Metamorphosis", he had chased his own tail into a corner and run smack into a wall.

He lay in a heap on the floor for a moment. When he realized his tongue was lolling out of his mouth, he quickly snapped his muzzle shut in horror.

"_Okay. Okay, there has to be a logical explanation for this, right? People do not turn into animals over night. I'm dreaming. Yeah. That must be it. Okay, so, if I am sleeping and dreaming I am awake, I should dream I am sleeping and I can wake up and I'll be awake and a person again and then I can take a piss."_ He curled into a ball, tucked his snout under a paw and closed his eyes, whining quietly.

Five minutes later, his eyes popped open. As soon as he moved, though, he knew it had not worked. Four paws hit the floor and he began to bark, a sharp noise that reverberated through the apartment, and rang in his ears. He quit quickly.

He hurt everywhere: his ears, his nose, his head.

And his bladder. He needed to relieve himself and for the first time since he was a toddler, he was afraid it was going to be the floor that took the brunt of it. There was no way he could figure out to use the toilet, so with a grimace he steeled himself to re-enter the bathroom, gritted his teeth, and jumped into the bathtub.

Big mistake. Claws and porcelain surfaces are not a winning combination. The momentum of his jump had him scrabbling again, his paws unable to find any purchase. He ended up smacking into both sides of the tub almost at the same time before coming to a stop somewhere near the drain end. With a sigh, he emptied his bladder and was almost stifled by the combination of smells.

"_Okay, round one. Round two – getting back out of the bathtub."_ He sat down and scratched his head vigorously again, using a back leg this time to get a better angle. No running jump was going to work – he would have to use a slightly less dignified approach.

"_Dignified?"_ he snorted, a sneeze blowing through him like a small dust devil through a baseball diamond. _"Ya' worried about your dignity here, Fido?"_

He put his front legs on the edge of the tub and scrambled over, nearly getting stuck halfway, but managing to get enough weight over that he fell, twisting lithely to get as many feet as possible on the floor.

One foot did not hold: the left front paw buckled under him and he yelped in pain. As he automatically licked it, he looked around the apartment and realized that if he couldn't find a way out, this prison would swiftly become his tomb. He couldn't eat anything, because all the food was too high and too well-secured. He couldn't even drink water, because the only water source, the toilet, was contaminated with a cleanser. Besides, he wasn't quite dog enough to drink out of a toilet.

He wanted food. He wanted coffee. He wanted space. He wanted Lindsay.

He sat back on his haunches and whined at the thought. Since the hostage situation and the blowing up of the lab, there had been little time for sitting down and working things out with anyone. He'd spent two days in the hospital having his hand set under anesthetic and making sure he didn't end up with any infections. Mac, his wistful hopes of disappearing to London fading under the administration's thunderous reaction to his activities, had been kept chained to a desk sorting out new places for everyone to work: Hawkes and Stella to NYU's Chemistry lab, Lindsay to Queen of Mercy's lab, others scattered around the city where time and equipment could be begged or borrowed.

Danny huffed, mind working in one direction while his busy nose worked trying to find food or water or an escape hatch. He had seen Lindsay exactly four times since he left the hospital, each time at a crime scene. On reduced assignment until he had passed his psyc eval, Danny had only been permitted on a scene to pick up and transport evidence he was going to be processing – a time saving measure Mac had instituted.

If Danny didn't know better, he'd think Mac had sussed something out, seeing as he only seemed to get sent to scenes Lindsay was working.

Every time he'd seen Lindsay, though, she'd been with Flack as her assigned detective. It wasn't unusual, Danny tried to convince himself: the three of them were often assigned to the same scenes. It just meant it was harder to get a private moment with Lindsay, and she hadn't seemed too eager to change things either. They'd planned a date for the night before, but she had cancelled at the last minute, having been called into a crime scene. Flack's offer had seemed a better alternative to sitting alone and getting drunk.

And at least Flack hadn't been spending time with his Lindsay. Okay – he didn't feel good about that reaction. He could admit that.

But it was still in the back of his mind when he accepted Flack's suggestion.

Bad choice, as it turned out. No matter how bad things had ever been, he'd never woken up a different species before!

His diligent nose had caught a scent he recognized, one which made every salivary gland go on high alert: the bakery down the street was pulling fresh bread out of the huge stone ovens they had built in the back alley more than a hundred years ago. Danny nearly cried with hunger. That was it – time to get out of jail!

He went back into his bedroom and spared a quick glance at the bed, wondering again if he could just go back to sleep and wake up normal. Something told him that was not going to work, so, resigned, he jumped on the bed and up to the window sill.

Over the dresser was a mirror he could just see himself in. He did look a little like Joe, the dog he had borrowed from his neighbour for the glass experiment in the Hollies case. He wagged his tail slowly, just to see what it looked like, but stopped immediately. He felt a complete fool.

The window to the fire escape was open a little, and luckily, Danny made a small but tough terrier in his dog form. Using both front paws and his nose, he managed to push the bottom window up just far enough to wiggle out and down onto the metal landing, losing his collar in the process. So far, so good.

The next part took a little more courage than he had thought it would. He was used to being upright and 5'9" tall, not on all fours and only about 18 inches high at the shoulder. His legs were too short to comfortably reach the first narrow metal step, and the metal hurt the pads on his feet. Besides, he had to go down head first, and he was starting on the tenth floor.

"_Fine time to figure out you are actually afraid of heights, you wuss,"_ he muttered to himself.

He seesawed his way down the fire escape: front paws on one step, back paws catching up, until finally he had reached the end of the road. He was still one and a half floors above street level, but there was no way he could use the ladder that would have taken a human to within dropping distance of the street. He was going to have to jump.

He scanned the street, looking for some easier way to do this, and he groaned when he saw his only chance.

"_Come on, come on, you've done this before."_ He whined and shuffled at the edge of the platform, trying to convince himself that it was as easy for the little dog he was as it was for the human he had been when chasing a suspect. His mind agreed it was not too much different. Unfortunately, his present short legs simply did not agree.

"_Work it out – it's all a matter of angles,"_ he muttered. If he could angle a little away from the building, and go out through the back section of the fire escape, he could just about jump …

Yep. Straight into the dumpster. Which luckily in one sense had not yet been emptied.

Danny realized that the longer he stayed a dog, the more he reacted like one when he found himself eating the leftover pork from a thousand uneaten Chinese take-out dinners. At least he didn't feel hungry anymore.

He clambered his way to the edge, pushing garbage into piles so that he could get higher. He knew there were some cardboard boxes beside the dumpster, and he could only hope they would help break his fall.

He picked himself up from the pile of squished cardboard boxes, and limped down a few more feet to the ground. Cardboard had one disadvantage as a safety net: it did give enough to keep him from breaking any bones, but being slippery, it hadn't slowed his descent much, dropping him hard on the sidewalk. That front paw was hurting him more and more.

He began to trot down the street, a small scruffy dog with bits of Chinese stir-fry greens draped over one ear and a distinct whiff of _'eau d'ordure'_ about him. He hadn't got very far when a large mutt of indeterminate parentage challenged him from a nearby alley, barking menacingly.

"_Hey, you. Shut the hell up, would ya'? You're going to get me into trouble."_ Danny looked around him nervously. His neighbourhood had pretty strict opinions about dogs wandering loose on the streets.

The dog stopped, shocked to hear a human voice coming from the interloper walking past _his _alley.

"Hey, what's up?" The dog growled. "Ya' got a weird accent there, friend."

"_I ain't got a weird accent, ya' freaking punk. I've been on these streets longer'n you've been alive." _

If Danny had still had hands, he'd have smacked himself in the head. Now he was trading insults with a dog, fer goddsakes. He trotted off swiftly before he degenerated any further.

"_Although it's hard to imagine what could be worse than waking up a dog," _he growled to himself._ "At least I ain't a cockroach."_

That just brought Lindsay to mind again, and he indulged in a few moments of thinking about the determined woman from the country who had finally melted in his hands, teaching him something he could never have expected about his own capacity for tenderness and passion.

"_Okay, that's it. I gotta find Linds and work stuff out now before I go crazy."_

He stopped to mark his territory on the doorstep of his apartment and groaned. _"Make that crazier."_

"_Where to find her, where to find her,"_ his mind busily ran in time to the sharp tapping of claws on the busy street. New Yorkers walk fast, with their heads down; Danny was no different on four feet than he had been on two. Focusing on where he was going, he forgot to watch where he was, and suddenly was on the street, inches from being under a car. Swerved wheels, honking horns, and swearing drivers was music to his ears, and he yipped cheekily at the humans, sneezing at the car exhaust that was blown up his nose.

"Hey, little guy," a sweet voice murmured, and two small hands scooped him up, holding him securely against a childish form. "You looking to be road pizza before the end of the day?" With a kiss and swift rub on top of his head, the young girl who had picked him up carried him back to the sidewalk and put him down. She then sat on a bench and kept petting him. "You look like you're lost, puppy. Hmm, no collar. You lost? Are you?"

Danny looked into deep brown eyes and thought for one wild moment the gods that watched out for stressed, crazy men were on his side. A second thought, and one quick sniff was enough to tell him, though, that this was not his Montana; not unless everything was turned completely upside down and Lindsay had turned into a 10 year old. He gave her a quick lick on the cheek anyway, wagging his tail in thanks, then running off through the park towards the lab.

He was halfway across the park, resisting manfully (and he did mean manfully) the urge to chase the squirrels that were chuntering and laughing at him from the treetops, when his ears suddenly pricked up, and he barked, the high happy bark of a dog who hears the person he has been looking for. He tore off across the green, stopping only for a second to thirstily lap up some water from one of the fountains that was actually working and not too full of sewage, then took off again. He could hear her voice, smell her scent; he knew Lindsay was somewhere in the park.

His senses may have been dog-sharp, but his instincts were not so good. He knew she was nearby, but kept getting confused by other scents and changes in wind direction. He found the other dogs and people in the park confusing, too; he was challenged twice by bigger dogs. Worse, he had to avoid come-ons from two females, one who was just coming into heat. That instinct nearly defeated him, but he thought about the moral implications of cross-species breeding and once again 'manned up' to resist her.

Finally, after running full out across the park three times, stopping again to beg a hot dog from a vendor who looked like a soft touch, he curled up in a miserable little ball, licking his sore paw and whining under his breath. _"She isn't here," _he thought to himself_. "I must be losing what little mind I had left. First I was seeing her where she wasn't, and now I am smelling her where she isn't."_

"I don't know, Flack! I've called him at home; I've called his cell. He's not answering and he didn't show up for his shift. That's not like Danny, you know that."

"_Lindsay!"_ Danny was on his feet, pelting into the trees behind him before his brain caught up with him. There she was, kneeling on the ground, worried brown eyes looking up at Detective Flack, camera held negligently in one hand.

"_Lindsay, Lindsay, Lindsay, Lindsay! You don't know how glad I am to see you!"_ Danny ran straight into her without stopping, barking madly, sending her flying one way and the camera another. Flat on her back, she put out her hands to stop him from licking her face, but to no avail. She was sputtering and trying to find her camera and trying to stop the small insane dog who had bowled her over like a ten pin, while Flack stood laughing in shock.

"Flack, you idiot! Get this _thing_ off me!" She was flushed, breasts heaving, and Danny was struck with a wholly inappropriate lust. When Flack's large hand came down and lifted him by the scruff of the neck, Danny let his instincts take over and nipped him on the thumb.

"_Serve him right for looking at her like that!"_ Danny muttered under his breath, then began barking his sharp high-pitched terrier bark. Cursing, Flack dropped the dog from about five feet up, and Danny lost his footing again as the sore foot crumpled under him. Whining, he curled up and began licking the paw once again.

"Flack! I didn't tell you to hurt him! Come here, boy. You poor little thing." Glaring at Flack, Lindsay kneeled down and began coaxing Danny into her arms.

"Hey, that flea-bitten mutt bit me!" Flack protested, holding out his hand for her to look at.

"Baby. He didn't even break the skin, and you're the one who grabbed him without any warning. Come here, boy. That's a good dog." Lindsay cooed, petting the trembling little dog who burrowed into her arms in seeming relief.

"_Okay, this is better,"_ Danny thought. _"Not perfect, but better. At least I've found Lindsay, and she is paying attention to me and not to him."_ He glared at the detective and growled a little as a hand reached out to him.

"No tags, no collar. He's a street rat, Lindsay. Probably does have fleas, maybe even rabies. You shouldn't really hold him, you know." In spite of Flack's gruff words, his hand knew the right spot to scratch behind Danny's ear, and he found himself relaxing under the ministrations of both humans.

Lindsay continued cuddling the dog unconsciously as she went back to the previous conversation. "What do I tell Mac? Or Stella?"

"About the dog?" Flack's hand stilled, and Danny pushed at him impatiently with his head to make him continue.

"No, idiot! About Danny! About him not answering his phones? He's supposed to be here now; when Mac called me I told him I'd let Danny know, so it's okay at the moment. But what do I do when I get back to the office and have to tell Mac I don't know where Danny is?" Her voice was exasperated, but when Danny licked her face again, he could taste the salt of tears.

"_I'm here, Montana, right here! I don't know what happened, but I'm right here with ya'."_

"He was fine last night, Linds. He's probably just sleeping off his losses."

Danny groaned. Trust Flack to make things worse. Maybe he should have told his best friend about the night with Lindsay, but he hadn't wanted to sound like he was bragging. Until he had had a chance to talk to her, to sort out what she wanted, he had decided not to talk about it with anyone else.

Of course, he had thought he'd have had a chance to talk to her before now. And maybe do more than just talk.

Lindsay's hand stilled, and her voice was just a little dangerous when she said, "What do you mean – sleep off his losses?"

Flack did not pick up on the tone. "We went out last night for a drink and a game of pool. When I left, he was still going strong – trying to win back some money from the girls."

Lindsay turned away, and Danny could feel her trembling. "Girls?" Her voice, however, sounded unconcerned.

"Yeah. Just a couple of college girls that challenged us. He was off his game last night – maybe that hand is bothering him more than he lets on."

Danny groaned, a sound that came out more like a yip in his present form, _"Naw, Montana, it wasn't like that! I swear it wasn't! I finished the game and I went home – alone. I promise. Do you really think I would do that to you?"_ He licked her face again, then burrowed his head deeper into her.

Absently, she ran her hand over the small dog's fur, seeking some comfort from the warmth. "I guess I should be looking for him in someone else's apartment, then." Her voice was cool, but this time even Flack picked up that something was wrong.

"I don't think so, Linds. I mean, Danny isn't much for casual pickups. Not any more, anyway." He shifted uncomfortably, not sure what else to say. A trained observer, he wasn't stupid; he knew there was more between Danny and Lindsay than just a working partnership. "I mean, in the past, maybe… yeah. But not now. And never when he had to work." He ended on a triumphant note: that seemed like a safe assertion to make, keeping things professional.

Danny could feel the sigh shudder through Lindsay again. _"Come on, Montana, ya' gotta trust me here. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. No other women, not ever. Why would I go looking when I have what I want right here?' _

Lindsay looked down at the little dog whining in her arms, and a slow smile grew on her face, although Danny noticed it still did not quite reach her eyes. "Hey, little guy. Thanks for the cuddle. You better go on home now." She put him gently down on the ground and patted him once more on the head before turning to find the camera he had sent flying earlier. "Damn," she swore softly under her breath.

"What's up?" Flack turned quickly.

"The camera lens cracked when I dropped the camera," Lindsay said quietly.

"Oh. Pictures should be okay, though, right?" Flack said casually.

"Yeah. I just don't know how I'm going to tell Mac." To his horror, Danny saw tears welling up in her eyes.

She stood up, the camera held loosely in her hand. "First Danny, now this. He's going to be angry." She sounded young and uncertain suddenly, and Danny began to whine, pawing at her foot urgently.

"Hey, Linds. What's up?" Flack put his hands on her shoulders and rubbed down her arms, forcing her to look up at him. "This isn't about a camera lens, is it?"

Danny backed up so he could see all of Flack, and began to bark, a sharp angry sound that turned to a snarl when Flack took her hands. The couple ignored him, and he was frantic, his whole body stiff, nearly coming off the ground with every bark.

"I'm sorry, Don. It's just … everything got so turned around, you know. I mean, Danny and I …" she blushed and stopped.

"Danny and you what?" Flack started, then flushed a little as she looked at him meaningfully. "Oh. You and Danny …" he raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. The night before he was taken hostage. And then there was the lab and he was in hospital and things have been so crazy …" It was Lindsay's turn to blush.

"You're telling me you haven't been … uh … together … in two weeks?" Flack's eyebrow was reaching hitherto unattained heights.

Lindsay nodded, "And I don't know … what he's thinking. About us, I mean."

"_Come on, Montana. Why are you asking him? Like I'd tell him anything. Ask me. I'll tell you anything you need to hear."_ He was standing on his back feet now, forepaws on her knees, whining and yipping to get her attention.

"The dog seems to have an opinion here," Flack joked, trying to lighten the mood before the tears he saw trembling on Lindsay's eyelashes fell. "Look, Linds," he said quietly, as she turned away, wiping her eyes surreptiously, "Danny has never, and I mean never, been with a girl for very long …" He paused as the little dog began to bark, "Whoa, he really does have opinions, doesn't he?"

"Shh, shh, boy, it's okay," Lindsay soothed, kneeling down and petting the little dog to make him quiet.

"Where was I?" Flack said, distracted.

"Danny and his revolving door policy on girlfriends," Lindsay said morosely.

"No, it's not like that. Look. Sit down a minute and leave the bloody dog alone, wouldja? He's putting me off." Flack pulled Lindsay over to a bench, followed by the dog, which growled and muttered threateningly around the detective's feet. "You know what it's like in our job, Lindsay, but lots of people don't. They get tired of being stood up and ignored for days at a time."

Flack sighed; this was obviously a shared experience. "Danny tries – tried – to avoid complications, that's all. If you two finally got together, that's different." He smiled as she blushed. "Come on, you're not going to pretend that he hasn't been into you for months, are you?"

He waited until she nodded shyly. "So, if he's gone walkabout, there's a reason, and it isn't you. Trust me."

He smiled at her and then looked around in surprise. "Hey, it's quiet. What happened?" He looked around and saw the dog sitting a foot or so away, head cocked to one side as if he had been listening.

Danny lifted a front paw and put it on Flack's knee. _"Thanks, man."_

"Hey, buddy. What's up? You decided I'm not so bad?" Flack gave the dog a casual pat before turning to back to Lindsay. "Look, why don't we swing by his place and see if he's sleeping it off? Or maybe he got sick or something. Whaddya say?"

Lindsay nodded a little shakily, still holding the broken camera in careful hands. "Yeah," she sighed. "I guess I can wait to tell Mac anything a little longer. Like forever."

She packed up her kit and stood to follow Flack to the car. The little dog was still sitting watching her hungrily. "Go on home, pup. You can't come with us. Go home. Go on."

Flack laughed, "He seems pretty determined to stick with you. I think you've made a friend."

Lindsay looked at the determined animal in frustration. "This is ridiculous. I can't have a dog in my apartment. And I don't want one anyway."

"We could leave him for the Animal Control officers." Flack suggested.

"Flack! We can't do that – you know what would happen. I'll have to take him with me, I guess." Lindsay said, shrugging.

Flack sighed, and scooped the little dog off his feet, ignoring the yip of surprise. "Come on, rat, we're on a mission."

Danny refused to sit in the back of the police car, curling up in Lindsay's lap and growling when Flack tried to turf him. As they got closer to his apartment, he stood up on her legs, and with his front paws on the window, barked at the dogs who had been chivying him earlier in the day.

He knew Flack had a key to his apartment; they had traded years before as a safety measure. He still had Flack's key on his key-ring, although he hadn't needed it for years. He had thought the days of getting stupid drunk and needing someone to check on vital signs were long behind both of them.

When Flack pulled into a loading zone and put on his lights, Danny jumped out of the car, running up a few of the stairs, then coming back to where Lindsay was standing leaning against the car as if her legs wouldn't quite hold her up.

"_What's up? You coming or not? Come on Montana – I need you to figure out what the fuck is going on here. I know you can do it. But you have to come into the apartment first. There aren't any answers on the street." _

Danny ran invitingly up the stairs again, turning around to wag his tail and then run back to where Lindsay stood staring up at the tenth story window in the front of Danny's building.

"Linds? What's up?" Flack put a hand out to her, dropping it when the little dog they had been forced to bring with them growled challengingly.

"I'm sorry; I don't think I should be here. You go, Don. Make sure he's okay. I'll wait here." Lindsay's eyes were huge, as if only by not blinking could she keep from crying.

"Lindsay, I promise you. If he's there, he's alone." Flack took her hand comfortingly, ignoring the dog's sharp high bark.

"What if he's not?"

"Then I'll kick his ass, and you can take care of his company, okay?"

Danny groaned_. "I __**told**__ ya'. No one else. Hell, __**I'm**__ not even there. I'm here. Now come and help me figure out why I'm here."_

Lindsay bent down and scooped up the little dog for comfort. "Come on. Let's find out the worst."

Flack took the lead, climbing the ten flights of stairs easily, Lindsay only a step or two behind him. She carried the dog, knowing his short legs would make this a fairly difficult task for him. Every few steps, a pink tongue would snake out and catch her on the chin or cheek, once on the ear. She was used to dogs, having several on the family ranch back home, but she had never seen a dog so affectionate. She ruffled the fur behind his ears absently. It was kind of nice to be so uncomplicatedly adored.

When they got to the door, Flack knocked his usual NYPD knock, and only just stopped himself from announcing their presence. He waited a minute, then pulled out his key chain, fumbling a bit as he searched for the right key.

The little dog barked as if impatient, only stopping when Lindsay whispered something soft in his ear.

"Let me go first," Flack said quietly, putting one arm in front of Lindsay. Reluctantly, she nodded, and stepped back.

The dog, though, flung himself out of her arms, and raced around the apartment, sniffing and digging busily under chairs and couches before flopping down under the pool table, his chin on his forepaws, and Lindsay could have sworn, a grin on his face as if he knew what had happened there. She could feel the blush start to move over her cheeks.

Flack came out of the bedroom, a puzzled look on his face, holding a dog collar in his hand. "He's not here, and it doesn't look like he came home last night. There's no clothes in the hamper or on the floor. What was he wearing yesterday?"

Lindsay didn't have to think very hard to list off every piece of clothing Danny had been wearing the day before – jeans, red sweater, leather jacket and short boots – and Flack turned around to hide the grin.

She moved over to the phone and saw the 'messages waiting' light blinking. "Should I check his messages?"

Flack shrugged, "Maybe we'll learn something."

She frowned, "But maybe they are personal."

The little dog barked reassuringly, she though fancifully, and with a sigh and a mental apology to Danny, she pushed the replay button.

"Hey, Messer? It's Paul. Look, can you keep Joe a day or two more? My dad's still in hospital and I think I'm going to have to stay a little longer. Phone if you need to make other arrangements, okay? Thanks a lot. I appreciate it, man."

The voice sounded strained and tired, but Danny recognized it as his next-door neighbour. He glanced down at his present form; well, at least he knew why he looked like Joe now. He shook his head, which in dog form really meant shaking his whole body: there was a thought that made no sense whatsoever.

Flack looked at the collar in his hand and held it out for Lindsay to read.

She looked at him, confused, then squatted down, and said slowly, "Joe?"

Flack could have sworn the little dog shrugged before yipping and sidling up to Lindsay to be petted again.

Lindsay looked up at Flack as she fondled the dog's ears. "So he is Joe, and we know he came from here. But how did he get to the park? How did he find us?"

It was Flack's turn to shrug. "I don't know. More importantly, where the hell is Danny? If he was supposed to be looking after Joe here, he wouldn't just not come home."

Lindsay's cell went off at that moment, nearly causing her to fall over. She stood up and checked the Caller ID, hoping it wasn't Mac. She frowned when she read "Queen of Mercy".

"Detective Monroe." She snapped into the phone.

A hesitant voice came over the line, "I am looking for someone who might go by the name Montana?"

"Yes. Yes, that's me. I mean…" Lindsay tripped over her words. "I mean – someone calls me that, yes." The blush which had been flooding and receding from her cheeks all morning rushed in again.

"It was number one on the speed dial for a cell phone. A young man was brought in last night; he had no other ID, and no one has come looking for him. Could you come to Queen of Mercy, do you think, and see if you can identify him?"

Lindsay sat down so fast in one of the chairs that the dog yipped in surprise and Flack grabbed her shoulder to help her keep her balance. She was completely white and ignored both the dog's pacing and whining and Flack's anxious questions.

"What happened to him?" Her voice was nearly strangled.

"I need you to see if you can identify him first, miss. Sorry – Detective, wasn't it? You know the rules around privacy." The nurse's voice was firm and professionally cool.

"Yes. Yes, we'll be right there." She closed up her phone with a shaking hand and looked into Flack's worried blue eyes. "Queen of Mercy. Someone was brought in last night – no ID, but a cell phone with my number on speed dial under Montana. It has to be Danny."

"Or at least his cell phone. Come on, Linds, let's go. You need to call Mac?"

"Not yet. Let's find out if it's him first, okay?" She was struggling to get her breath.

The two detectives left the apartment without noticing that the small dog was following them as if determined not to be left behind. They were at the car when Lindsay heard the despairing bark of the exhausted dog, and turned with a frustrated cry. "Flack, we forgot about the dog. He can't come with us."

"I'm not climbing up and down those stairs again for the dog, Linds. We'll leave him in the car if we have to."

She opened her mouth to argue, but Flack had already opened her door and the little dog had jumped in. She was no more willing to scale the stairs and waste time than Flack was, so she jumped into the car and absently gave the dog a pat on the head. "Let's go then, boys!"

Flack used the lights and the siren to get them to the hospital as fast as possible even through mid-day traffic in New York City. When they arrived, Lindsay was out the door before Flack had brought the car to a complete stop, and the dog was chasing after her.

"Shit." By the time Flack had followed Lindsay into the hospital, scooping the small dog and half-concealing him under his coat as he did, Lindsay was already moving down the hallway under the dubious protection of the charge nurse, who was talking as they went.

"I really can't tell you anything until you have identified him, Detective. He was brought in about 4 o'clock this morning, and of course we notified the police. But as he was comatose, although his condition is stable, there didn't seem much point in them coming yet to investigate. We kept his clothes and possessions, naturally, ready for processing. Here he is – in ICU, as you can see, just until he regains consciousness." Still talking, she pushed the door open, but Lindsay had stopped dead at the first glance of the pale, still figure on the bed. Flack nearly bumped into her, and the little dog struggled briefly in his arms before going quiet.

"Danny." She breathed it out as if it were the last sound she would ever make, sinking into the chair beside the bed and groping blindly for his hand.

"You do know him," the nurse stated, not unsympathetically.

"Detective Daniel Messer, NYPD Crime Lab," Flack supplied, his voice hoarse but calm. "I need to phone this in; can I use my cell in here?"

"I'll take you to the desk; they'll be able to give you a full update on his condition and a secure line." The nurse spared a look for the white-faced young woman with the death grip on her patient. "Partner?"

Flack nodded grimly, turning his gaze away from Danny's unresponsive form, white face matching the white sheets covering him.

"Lindsay, I'll be right back. Stay here," he said softly to the little dog, carefully placing him in Lindsay's lap. One arm came around him automatically. Flack patted her on the shoulder uneasily; her colour had not come back and she seemed to be verging on shock. But his duty was to the victim and the fact that this victim was one of his best friends made his actions not only automatic, but necessary.

"He was found in an alley off 41st," the nurse was saying as they left the room. "There are multiple contusions, a couple of fractured ribs, and as I said, his ID was gone …"

Lindsay held the warm body closely, craving the contact, struggling to transmit the same comfort to the cold hand wrapped in hers. She had held him off, avoided confronting her feelings, not once, she thought now in agony, but twice. After the hostage incident, she had found it easier to step back again, putting off any discussion about the future. Now, again, she faced the possibility that there may be no future beyond this, that Danny would end up like his brother in a half-life of grey, comfortless passivity until finally his tenuous grip on life loosened for good.

She burst into tears, biting her lip to mute the sound. The dog in her arms twisted to lick at her wet cheeks, whining.

"_Lindsay. Listen to me carefully now. I'm in there somewhere, I know it. Thing is, I'm in here somewhere too. I'm not going to pretend that I understand it or nothing. But I am not going to leave you. You got that? You hearing me, Monroe? It would take hell and all its demons to keep me from you. I need you to hang on, and believe that, okay?"_

"Danny. I'm so sorry. If I hadn't got caught up at work, I'd have been with you last night. First you end up as a hostage because of me; now you end up in a coma." Lindsay murmured. "I think we're being told something, don't you? We aren't even really together and I keep getting you hurt. Wake up, Danny. Please? Wake up."

"_Wait a goddamned minute. You aren't really blaming yourself for this, are you? Shit, Montana, tell me that isn't why you've been keeping away from me. How many times do I have to tell you? None of this is your fault. Fuck. Fuck. Lindsay Monroe, listen to me. Don't you shut me out like this. You leave and I'll go, I swear it. There isn't a me without you anymore."_

Lindsay tried to soothe the little dog in her arms, who was whining and pawing at her frantically. "What is it, Joe? Hush; you have to be quiet or they'll make you leave. What is wrong with you?"

He answered her with a sharp high-pitched bark before jumping onto the bed and licking the white face of the man lying motionless.

"Joe! Joe! Come here or they really will throw us both out!" Lindsay hissed.

"_Come on man! Wake up, jerk-off! She's going to take this as some kind of fucking sign and you're going to lose her. What the fuck happened to you – I mean to me? Whatever it is, shake it off buddy, or we lose everything. Come on, Messer! Wake the fucking hell up!"_

"Joe!" Lindsay grabbed him and pulled him off the bed, putting him down on the floor and speaking sharply to him. "That's enough! Stop it now or I'll put you in the car!"

"Not Flack's car – it's got too much garbage in it. Junk-food junkie," a groggy voice protested from the bed behind her.

"Danny? Danny! Oh thank God! What happened? How are you feeling? Do you know where you are …" Lindsay's voice ran out as Danny snaked one hand around behind her head and pulled her close for a deep kiss that seemed to last forever.

"A little more than partners?" The nurse said wryly to the tall detective standing in the doorway with her, eyebrows raised to the skies.

He grinned and said in flippant relief, "Naw. Standard NYPD salute. Wait until you see how I greet him!"


End file.
